


Beautiful Nightmare

by archdemonblood



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Bittersweet beginning and middle too now that I think about it, Domestic, I know as much about politics as JKR, I'm not calling you a ghost; just stop haunting me, M/M, minor spoiler for FB that might lead to a major spoiler for FB if you put 2+2 together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8646211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archdemonblood/pseuds/archdemonblood
Summary: Albus Dumbledore wakes up with his partner, Gellert Grindelwald, in a world that they rule together For the Greater Good.





	

Albus Dumbledore couldn’t remember a time when he’d been able to see without glasses. When he opened his eyes, he saw the room around him as though he were under water: everything was blurry, and closer than it appeared, or perhaps farther away. He could have walked to the door, in dire need, but he could not under pain of death have read a simple sentence or described the face of the man sitting in the corner of the room. 

And yet he knew, in his gut, exactly whose face it was. 

He reached out with his left hand. “Accio glasses,” he said, just like he did every morning. His fingers closed around them a moment later. 

“Good morning, love.” 

Albus froze. His heart skipped a beat, not in an unpleasant way, and then steadied itself. “Good morning,” Albus said, “... love.” He sat up, perhaps too quickly, but his hands didn’t shake as he opened his glasses and slipped them on his head. 

He took in the room around him. It was large and decorated in red and gold, with floor-to-ceiling windows to the east. A stunning golden chandelier hunger from the ceiling in the center of the room. There was ample comfortable seating and dark wood furnishings, and on a small table in the corner, there was a tray with an untouched cup of tea sitting on it invitingly. 

In the chair next to the table, sipping a drink of his own--coffee, not tea; Albus could smell it--was Gellert, looking just like he belonged there. 

“I told the servants not to wake you,” Gellert said. “You didn’t seem to be sleeping well last night.” 

Albus had no memories of last night, good or bad. “Thank you,” he said, but there was a distance in his voice. He was still trying to get his bearings.  

Gellert frowned. “Are you feeling well?” 

Albus nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.” 

“You’re certain? I can handle executive functions for the day, if you need to go back to bed.” 

Albus hesitated. He didn’t think he was _ill_ , but he didn’t quite feel well either. He felt unsteady to his core, as if someone had ripped an invisible rug out from under him and his feet hadn’t yet relearned to trust the ground beneath them. 

And then the memories, filling in all of the holes and giving Albus’ mind something solid to stand on. “I’m certain,” Albus said at last. “I don’t want MACUSA to feel neglected if it gets less than both of our full attentions.” 

Gellert smiled fondly. “They would understand, if you’re ill. Even we are only men.” 

“I’m not ill,” Albus said. “I’ve been having strange dreams. That’s all.” He exchanged a meaningful look with Gellert, then walked to the window and lifted a curtain. The view from outside was of a snow-covered mountain, with guards shivering as they made their rounds and an occasional servant rushing from one place to the next, always eager to get back inside. 

“Yes, love,” Gellert said, with the tone of a patient mother speaking to her child. “It’s still snowing. Didn’t I warn you that winters in der Schweiz are harsher than winters in England?” 

“Many years ago,” Albus said, dropping the curtain. “But if an old man can’t even _dream_ of sunlight, what does he have left?” 

“We are not so old,” Gellert said. 

Albus scoffed playfully. “Perhaps _you_ aren’t.” 

Gellert nodded at the cup on the table beside him, still holding his own cup in his hand. “I kept your tea warm for you, in case you did get up.” 

“You take better care of me than I deserve,” Albus said. He glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall on his way to the table. It was full of helpful little Xs on all the days that had passed. Gellert did like things organized and clear. 

“Januar” said the top of the page. It would have been easy to guess what that translated to, but Albus didn’t have to guess; he knew without ever having learned. It was the 12th of January, 1927. A Tuesday. 

MACUSA’s top people were coming for a visit. 

The tea had an apple flavor to it. It was sweet, just as Albus liked it, and it helped wake Albus up, and warm him even though the room was cool. When he was finished with it, he walked to the closet and opened it to discover a set of robes that would all individually cost more than Hogwarts professors made in a year. He chose a purple one that was soft to the touch but warm when he put it on, and then he looked in the mirror on the closet door and stroked his short red beard, which had just a few grey hairs woven into it. 

“Thinking of shaving?” Gellert asked. 

“Never,” Albus said. “I look like a child without my beard.” 

“And what about me?” Gellert asked. “You don’t think I look like a child, I hope.” 

Albus turned and took in Gellert’s smooth skin. “You have the strong jaw for a clean shave,” Albus said. “I don’t.” 

That seemed to mollify Gellert, who was already fully dressed and was just watching Albus, as if he were afraid that Albus wouldn’t be there anymore if he turned away for even a second. 

The hair on top of Albus’ head matched his beard in color pattern, and Albus was able to finger-comb it into something acceptable. He looked good. He felt good, too, now that the daze had worn off. 

Gellert was wearing deep green robes, just as fine as Albus’. His blond hair without a trace of grey in it was cut short and shaved at the sides, and his pale blue eyes were still fixed on Albus. 

“We have time for breakfast with your brother and sister,” Gellert said. 

“My brother and sister?” 

Gellert nodded, setting his now empty coffee cup down on the silver tray and standing. “I think they’ve been feeling a little neglected, of late. We’ve been so busy, with everything going on in North America...” 

“Breakfast with my brother and sister sounds lovely,” Albus said. “If you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all,” Gellert said. They stepped out of the bedroom together, and Gellert spoke quick German to a guard that was standing them. Albus understood the words; he’d told the guards to go get Ariana and Aberforth, and bring them to breakfast. 

The breakfast nook--for it certainly wasn’t a formal dining room--was a round table in a small room just off the kitchen, with more floor-to-ceiling windows. All of these were open to a view of the snowy mountainside. 

There were four plates of Swiss omelettes with dried apples laid out, with bread and orange juice beside them. Albus slid into a chair and Gellert sat beside him, and several minutes later, Ariana and Aberforth came down the stairs. 

The sight of Ariana nearly brought tears to Albus’ eyes. She stood tall, not a girl but a woman, with wrinkles around her eyes and a few strands of grey in her hair. Her rose-colored robes were not so nice as Albus’, but they were finer than any he had ever seen her in. Her blonde hair was cut short, just above the shoulders; Aberforth’s suggestion, Albus’ memory supplied. Albus could almost hear Aberforth’s soft voice to his sister: “It would be easier to take care of, and short hair is fashionable for women now...” 

Aberforth himself looked well. His hair was longer than Ariana’s, but well groomed. He was plump and rosy-cheeked, and dressed as well as Ariana was. “This weather,” he said, shaking his head as he pulled out the chair next to Albus for Ariana. “The goats don’t care for it.” 

“Give the goats my apologies, little brother,” Gellert said. “I have done all I can for them.” He looked at Albus, and then back to Aberforth. “Changing the weather, I’m afraid, is beyond our talents.” 

“Hop to it, then,” Aberforth said. There was a bitterness there, but no more than Albus had long been used to from his little brother. “You’ll figure it out if you put your minds to it.” 

“Alas,” Albus said, “our minds are otherwise occupied, today.” 

“Of course,” Aberforth said. He looked at Albus for a second, and then he smiled. “Don’t look so sullen, Albus. I’m just playing... It was hard, you know,” he said. “Being on the run with you two. It was hard, for a very long time. But things have... Things have worked out.” 

Albus smiled back at him. “I’m glad you think so.” 

They dug into their breakfasts, and Albus let Aberforth and Ariana talk to him about their lives, the goats, and Ariana’s paintings. The conversation was entirely too short, but no sooner had they finished their breakfast than Gellert grabbed Albus’ arm. 

“We really do need to go,” Gellert said. “You’re the one who said we don’t want MACUSA feeling neglected.” 

“You’re right, of course,” Albus said, standing. But then he stopped and turned to Ariana. “Give me a hug, little sister?” 

Ariana smiled. “I’d like that.” She stood up, and let Albus take her in his arms. He held her close for a moment, breathing in the smell of her hair and feeling her heartbeat against his chest and her breath on his neck. 

“Why are you sad, Albus?” she asked him softly. 

“I’m not,” he said. 

She drew back, and looked at his face. “Your eyes are sad.” 

He let his arms fall away from her, and forced himself to smile. “It’s nothing. I’m just going to miss you while I take care of things to day.” 

“I’ll be right here,” she said. 

Albus nodded. He took a good look at her, grown and happy, and then he turned and followed Gellert into the hallway. 

“Do you need a moment to compose yourself?” Gellert asked. 

Albus shook his head. “No.” He did, however, reach out and grab Gellert’s hand, entwining their fingers. It made him feel better. 

Gellert looked down at their hands disinterestedly, then smiled and squeezed. “We shall greet MACUSA like this, then,” he said. “Unashamed.” 

The comment nearly made Albus pull his hand away, but Gellert seemed to _mean_ it, and he walked forward with a confidence that made up for Albus’ lack of it. Gellert led the way into a large conference room holding Albus’ hand. 

Seraphina Picquery had seen better days. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was wrapped in a simple black wrap, not one of the elaborate wraps she was known for. It was possible that she was just tired because the time zone change had disrupted her sleep schedule, but Albus got the feeling that this was more than a one-night issue. It had been a very long time since the president of the Magical Congress of the United States had gotten a good night’s sleep. 

To the right of the president sat Vice President Irene Walker, an older white woman whose hair was more grey than brown and who looked no happier or healthier than the president did, even accounting for the differences in their ages. 

To the president’s left sat a Native American man, younger than the president and vice president both. Alton Lowrey. He was an advisor to the president on Native American affairs, and he had recently made a name for himself by rolling out the welcome rug for Grindelwald and Dumbledore, in stark contrast to the rest of the US government. He had as recently as last week published a statement imploring his countrymen to give Albus and Gellert a chance. He was the only person at the table who didn’t look like he’d just the floo over to his own funeral. 

“Madam President,” Gellert said silkily, “welcome to our home. I hope you’re comfortable?” 

If looks could kill, Gellert would have been in the ground before he finished speaking.

 _You start wars_ , Picquery’s eyes said. _You commit acts of terrorism that start wars on other people’s land, and then you swoop in with smiles and offer your help fixing what_ you _broke in the first place, but your help comes with strings attached._

It was amazing what a woman’s eyes, or perhaps just a man’s guilty conscious, could communicate. 

For the Greater Good. 

Albus took a deep breath as he and Gellert sat down, letting go of each other’s hands at last. Gellert looked perfectly comfortable, and perfectly in control. 

Gellert snapped his fingers, and a muggle boy stepped forward with shot glasses full of a clear, bubbly liquid. He passed them out to each of the people at the table. 

Gellert smiled. “Giggle water, Madam President. Your favorite, if I’m not mistaken? You look as though you could use some today.” 

President Picquery continued to stare coldly at Gellert. He smiled defiantly and lifted his own glass to his lips, downing it quickly. 

“Ha!” the sound burst from his lips, deep and pleasant, and Albus’ heart fluttered once again. Gellert chuckled as though someone had just whispered the best joke he’d heard in a long time in his ear, and Albus, as a show of solidarity, reached for his own glass. 

Albus looked up, meeting Mr. Lowrey’s dark brown eyes, and smiled. He raised his glass slightly, and Mr. Lowrey got the message and chose to join Albus in his show of solidarity. Albus and Mr. Lowrey took their shots, and then stared at each other as they burst out laughing. 

Gellert, well over the effects of his own drink, looked at Albus and smiled, genuinely, happy to see Albus happy. But that was the entire point, wasn’t it? 

“Madam President, please,” Gellert said. “It’s been unpleasant business between us, for most of your time in office. I understand that. But I would like to put that behind us. Drink, and let’s be friends.” His tone was light and imploring, but it wasn’t really a request. Gellert and Picquery both knew who had all the power in this room. 

Picquery looked at her vice president in a silent request for some solidarity of her own, and the two women lifted their glasses to their lips in almost perfect sync. Mrs. Walker giggled almost instantly, though she looked away from the rest of the table in embarrassment as soon as she’d done so. Madam Picquery sat there, and Albus watched her lips twitch as she tried to hold the laugh in. She lost the fight within seconds, and her whole body shook with a laugh that might almost have been a sob, and lasted far longer than the giggle water accounted for. Picquery wiped tears from her face when she was finished. It was hard to say what kind of tears they were. 

She looked at Albus and Gellert with no more of a sense of joy than she’d had five minutes ago, but Gellert smiled at her reassuringly. “Thank you, Madam President.” 

Picquery took a deep breath, and nodded. Not for the first time, Albus felt torn between a deep love for the man sitting beside him, and a creeping realization that Gellert was an egomaniacal control freak who could be quite cruel, even when he was pretending not to be.

But that was over-dramatic, wasn’t it? All he had done was make the president laugh, at a time when she badly needed it. 

The talks went as smoothly as could be expected. Mostly, Gellert spoke, laying out in plain terms how the Magical Congress of the United States of America was going to make the transition to full integration with muggle society. Albus interjected occasionally when Gellert forgot to mention something important, or when Albus started to feel that Gellert’s version of events was sounding too harsh and Picquery and Walker could use with some reassurance. The Americans were mostly silent, nodding along or asking questions when necessary. Mr. Lowrey was the only one of them who would meet Albus’ eyes. 

For the Great Good. 

They would understand some day, when their children--or grandchildren, in the vice president’s case--grew up without fear. 

When the meeting was concluded, Albus made a point of shaking Mr. Lowrey’s hand firmly and thanking him for his positive attitude about this difficult transition. 

Lowrey gripped Albus’ hand firmly, and looked Albus in the eyes without smiling. “Cherokee wizards lived beside the No-Majs for a thousand years, not as their masters, but as valued members of their community. _Your_ people came over and ruined that. It’s not Cherokee No-Majs who want to burn wizards, and who forced us all underground. It’s white No-Majs. And it was white wizards who decided to give them what they wanted and go underground.” He took a deep breath. “My sister spent a year in jail for marrying a No-Maj. Her husband was oblivated, and she gave birth in prison to a child who will never know her father, because he was _stolen_ from her by colonialist laws. The Statute of Secrecy _destroyed_ my community in ways that no other wizarding law has ever approached. So I’m glad to see it gone. I am. But I want you to understand, Mr. Dumbledore, that my loyalty is not to you and your partner, or to the movement you lead. My loyalty is to the Cherokee nation, wizards and No-Majs included. If your rule is not good for the non-magical members of my community, I will oppose it with all I have in me.” 

Albus was silent for a moment while he processed this, and then he nodded. “I understand,” he said. “And I assure you, Gellert and I don’t _want_ to hurt muggles. That’s never been our goal.” 

“You’ve murdered--” Picquery said. 

“--As a means to an end!” Gellert interrupted. He and Picquery stared each other down for a moment, and then Gellert continued: “There is no reason for this bloodshed to continue,” Gellert said, turning to Mr. Lowrey. “If the No-Majs of your community are willing to embrace change and live side-by-side with wizardkind, they are our allies in this.” 

Albus smiled at Lowrey and shook their hands again. “I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Albus said. 

Lowrey let go of Albus’ hand.  

“Deep breath, love,” Gellert told Albus when they stepped out of the meeting room. “Everything will be fine, in the end. We’ve won our war. The darkness is behind us.” 

Albus nodded, and followed the instructions to take a deep breath. It made him feel somewhat better. 

“Shall we go see the little one?” Gellert asked. “That will cheer you up.” That statement was decisive, and Gellert grabbed Albus’ hand and began to lead him down the hall. 

The little one? But they couldn’t possibly have a child, could they? And Aberforth wasn’t the sort, and even with Ariana grown, Albus didn’t the like the idea of her becoming a mother. 

He followed Gellert, as much out of curiosity as anything, through several hallways and up two flights of stairs. When they stopped, they were nearly back where they started, just down the hall from the bedroom in which Albus had awoken. Gellert opened a door and led Albus into a large nursery that had been painted a soft pink color. There was a woman in a chair near the large window, rocking a bundle in her arms. A nanny with a child. 

Memories that didn’t belong there flooded into Albus’ mind. Gellert had awoken nearly two weeks ago with a vision of a child of unparallelled power being born in a muggle orphanage in London. It was a travesty they could not allow. Even with the Statute of Secrecy broken, the child would receive state-funded, impersonal, inadequate training, and he would be at a significant disadvantage. 

They hadn’t adopted him. Not officially. They had simply arrived at the orphanage, taken the child, and left. 

Albus knew what he was going to find, but even so, he walked over to the nanny and held out his arms. “May I hold him?” he asked. 

“Of course, sir,” the nanny said, handing the infant off. 

He still had the strange grey eyes of a newborn, but the dark hair on his head was quite enough confirmation for Albus. This child, Ariana--So many second chances. 

Would it make a difference? 

Albus stared into those eyes, trying to see if there was evil within them. There wasn’t. This was an infant; one who had never known neglect or anger, and had never learned to bully others to get his way. He spent his days with the undivided attention of a sweet nanny. This was a child who would be taught that power and goodness are not determined by blood. This was a child who could still be saved.

Albus handed the baby back to the nanny, and nodded at Gellert. “A word in the hall?” He let his eyes communicate that the game was over. 

Gellert nodded. “Anywhere you want.” 

“The hallway is fine, thank you.” Albus didn’t wait for Gellert. He turned and walked out the door, and he waited in the hallway, knowing that they wouldn’t be interrupted. 

Gellert looked as close to contrite as Albus had ever seen him when he followed. 

Albus spoke softly: “Are you trying to fix my mistakes, Gellert, or your own?” 

“I am trying to make you happy,” Gellert said. “I want you to dream. Just for one night.” 

“I dream often,” Albus said. 

“But not of me.” 

Albus looked at Gellert for several seconds, drinking in his pale eyes like they were water on a hot summer’s day; his firm jaw; his manicured nails... “You do not know what I dream about, Gellert.” 

Gellert followed Albus’ eyes, and the meaning of Albus’ words sunk in, Gellert smirked. “Or perhaps I’m the only one that does.” 

“There are better uses of your gift than this,” Albus said. 

“No.” 

Albus had expected that, but he flinched back from the simplicity of it nevertheless. “The mistakes of the past have been made. We can’t fix them by wishing them away. But there are mistakes not yet made. You could do some good, Gellert. You still have that power.” 

“I suppose,” Gellert said. “Even you can’t take that from me.” 

“Indeed not,” Albus said. 

Gellert approached Albus, and Albus allowed this. Slowly, calmly, Gellert slipped a hand around Albus’ waist. He was warm and comforting, and he smelled like sandalwood. Albus closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment. Just another moment. 

“You’re familiar with Cassandra,” Gellert said. “Not Trelawney, but her namesake. One of the original Seers.” 

Albus nodded. “I am. She’s most famous because one believed her prophesies.”

“A fate I would prefer not to share.” Gellert’s breath on Albus’ neck. Gellert’s voice a low whisper. The scenery around them was blurring at the edges. The two of them were the only thing that was real. “No one would ever believe me.” 

“I would,” Albus said. 

Gellert chuckled in Albus’ ear. 

But Albus pulled away, and made Gellert look him in the eyes. “I would,” he repeated. “You have the Sight. I have unshackled hands. There is good we can do. _Real_ good.” 

Gellert sighed, and Albus couldn’t tell if that was sorrow or fondness that permeated it. “Must you give me another chance every time we speak?” Gellert said. “Hate me or love me, but I do wish you’d decide.” 

“I have decided,” Albus said. “I decided long ago.” And now it was Albus’ turn to grab Gellert’s hand and intwine their fingers comfortingly. “That’s why I’m still here.” 

Gellert stared at Albus with a dreamy look in his eyes. “I’m going to die in a tower,” he whispered. “But not before you do.” 

“That’s nothing to fear,” Albus said. “I’m an old man.” 

“As am I,” Gellert said, squeezing Albus’ hand. “So let’s dream of sunlight a little.” 

“It will hurt all the more when we wake in the dark,” Albus cautioned. 

“It couldn’t possibly.” Gellert closed his eyes and sighed again. “I’d have given you everything, you know.” 

Albus shook his head. “You never loved me.” 

“I did!” Gellert insisted, eyes open and suddenly electric. “I did, Albus. Not the way that you did, perhaps: My heart doesn’t skip beats. I never daydreamed about our future together. I never ran around grinning like a fool after getting your letters... But realizing that I would spend the rest of my life without you _hurt_ in a way that nothing else has _ever_ hurt. I surrendered to you that night because if we’d fought that duel to the bitter end...” His lip curled. “Neither outcome was bearable. I had hoped you’d surrender first, but you were stronger, so I did what had to be done. I did love you, if I have ever loved anyone.” Gellert leaned his head in close to Albus, and Albus found his hand in Gellert’s hair, stroking the silky blond strands. “I’d have given you everything.” 

“Then give me this,” Albus said, releasing Gellert and stepping back suddenly. “Think about my offer.” 

Gellert seemed to be thinking about it for a few seconds, and then he stopped and looked Albus over. “One kiss,” he said. 

“Would that be for me, or for you?” Albus asked. 

Gellert pouted, and didn’t answer. 

“You think that if you kiss me, I’ll play pretend with you again,” Albus said. 

“It doesn’t have to be either/or,” Gellert said. “We don’t live in dreams. If we use my Sight for others during the day, what would be so wrong with using them for ourselves at night? One kiss.” 

It _ached_. This was a dream Albus could dwell on forever. It ached to draw away from it now and it would ache when he woke up, but for a moment, it didn’t have to. 

Albus could have kicked Gellert out of his mind at any point, or stopped him from entering in the first place. Albus had kept Gellert out for decades. Lucid dreaming was one thing, but it was a rare talent indeed to pull another inside of your dreams. It took a combination of Sight and legilimency, and a deep knowledge of the... ‘victim’ was such a harsh word. Gellert could communicate with his followers this way if he wished, but it had been many years since Albus had locked Gellert up. He _wasn’t_ communicating with his followers; or if he was, it was to no avail. 

When Gellert woke up, he’d hurt just as much as Albus, and unlike Albus, he’d be alone. 

“One kiss,” Albus said. 

Gellert’s lips touched Albus’, and for a moment they tried to breathe each other in. They tasted each other and smelled each other, and Albus memorized every sensation even as he told himself it was pointless. They kissed, not for the first time and perhaps not for the last, and then Gellert let go. 

Albus woke up in a comfortable tower in a castle in Scotland, a setting so familiar that he didn’t need to put on his glasses to know where he was. He caught the tears that hadn’t yet fallen from his eyes, and he took a deep breath.


End file.
